


Old Ways for Old Men

by Runeb19



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runeb19/pseuds/Runeb19
Summary: As the world becomes more advanced, and technology becomes more involved in every facet of their lives, some men find the simplest means the most appealing.Others…Others suffer for it.





	Old Ways for Old Men

The faint creaking of the branches above his head, once a noise he had found soothing and peaceful, merely added to Soldier’s irritation.

 

He crossed his arms, huffing, as the upside-down world revolved slowly around him. The rope around his ankle, suspending him from the sturdy upper branches of the innocent looking oak, was cutting off all blood to his foot - blood that was rushing to his head. But he was so annoyed, he didn’t even care.

 

It wasn’t right to say he was  _ mad _ , really. He was too far past mad. This was it. This was how he lost, how his arch-nemesis would get his black-taloned gauntlets on him.

 

A fucking snare trap.

 

Reaper hadn’t even been by yet, probably because he hadn’t even conceived that  _ this _ would be the downfall of the infamous vigilante, Soldier: 76. They’d been playing a game of cat and mouse in the Himalayan foothills, Soldier walking into the obvious set-up, confidence in his skills making him decide it was worth the risk.

 

He glared at the rope.

 

His bulk worked against him in any attempt to reach the rope to release himself, and he couldn’t move enough to dislodge the rope or break the branch.

 

He was there for at least 5 minutes - he wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he started counting the torturous seconds - before he heard the telltale whispering that indicated Reaper’s presence. The wraith coalesced in front of him, looking down at the visor covering Soldier’s face. Soldier looked back up, waiting. Several seconds passed in silence.

 

“Okay, honestly,” Reaper said, sounding almost depressed, “This is just sad.” He reached a taloned gauntlet up to his mask and removed it, pushing the hood back in the same motion, and Gabriel stared down at him, his scarred, slightly smoking face and red eyes screwed up in an expression that landed somewhere between pity and scorn. “I can’t believe you.”

 

“Well why did you set up the damn rope in the first place then?” Jack asked hotly.

 

“Force of habit, boy-scout.  _ The old ways work best sometimes _ ,” Gabe said, in a cruel yet accurate depiction of a young Jack Morrison.

 

“Well what now?” Jack growled.

 

“I suppose I should take you back to base and torture you, but honestly? Once I get over the shame that the man I  _ trained _ ,” he stressed the word, “got caught this easily, this mental image will do more for me than any amount of torture.”

 

Jack rolled his eyes, but with the visor on, Gabe couldn’t see.

 

“I mean,” Gabe started, pulling a shotgun out from his cloak, “Should I just put you out of your misery? ‘Cause this is just so, so sad.” He angled the shotgun down at Jacks head.

 

“With the day I’ve been having,” Jack said, defeated, “I’d probably survive the shot, somehow. And still be conscious afterward.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose,” Gabe said, putting the weapon away. “Ah, well. Short chase.” And he reached up, snipping the rope between two talons on his gauntlet. 

 

Jack, ready for it, pulled himself upward as Gabriel cut the rope so that he landed on his back, instead of his head. It still hurt, but not as much.

 

“Alright,” Gabriel said tiredly, still apparently disappointed the chase was already over, as he extended a hand down to Jack’s supine form. “Up you get. You’ve been caught by a terrorist, mr. vigilante. You’re my hostage now.”

 

* * *

 

The morning dawned bright and cloudless, and the early morning chill didn't quite make it all the way back to the bed where Gabriel sat, stretching, before rubbing at his eyes. There was a yawn behind him, and he craned his neck to see Jack looking blearily back at him, rubbing his wrist.

 

“I hate playing cops and robbers,” He muttered, still half-asleep. 

 

“I don’t. It’s great,” Gabriel said cheerily.

 

“You only say that because you never play cop,” Jack accused, starting to sit up, wincing, and lying back down, defeated. 

 

“Of course I don’t. I make a much more convincing bad guy than you.”

 

“More like an edgy goofball,” Jack muttered, and Gabe glared at him.

 

“I’m cool and evil and eat the souls of the innocent Jack. You put on a mask and beat up gangsters.”

 

“M’still a vigilante,” Jack muttered, curling up under the covers. “I can be bad.” Gabe snorted as Jack grumbled. “You play cop next time.”

 

“I won,” Gabriel defended, aghast at the notion. “Why should I have to change roles?”

 

“Cop never wins!” Jack whined.

 

“Of course not! You have to be all proper and follow the rules, catch me doing something wrong. But robber? Robber’s a criminal. No one bats an eye if the robber throws a sack over the cops head and carries him off to his bedroom.” Gabe sighed wistfully. “Best Valentine's day ever.”

 

Jack groaned, but it turned into a laugh, and Gabriel laid back down next to him, one hand raising automatically to run his fingers through Jack’s hair. Jack closed his eyes, apparently enjoying the sensation. 

 

“Probably best not to fall back asleep,” Gabriel murmured, though he didn’t cease his actions.

 

“Shaddap,” Jack muttered. “M’old. Let me sleep.”

 

Gabe chuckled. “Jack, you haven’t aged a day since you turned 30, and we both know it.”

 

“Nuh-uh. My hairs white.” Jack acting spoiled had been a rare pleasure even back when they’d shared a room, and Gabe could feel his resolve crumbling.

 

“Yeah, because you dyed it so you would look older.”

 

“You don’t have any proof.” Jack said, eyes still closed.

 

“You made me re-apply the dye four months ago.”

 

“Shush.”

 

Gabe sighed, and adjusted his position on the bed, pulling Jacks closer, so that his head was resting on Gabriel’s chest. Jack made a pleased noise at his victory, and pushed closer. Gabriel resumed his slow stroking of Jack’s hair.

 

“How old do you think we’ll live?” Gabe asked quietly. 

 

It wasn’t quite true that Jack hadn’t aged at  _ all _ , but it had become clear some time ago that they had not been aging like normal humans, an apparent side effect of their modifications from the Soldier Enhancement Program. No one had noticed, of course. They had been in their prime when Overwatch was founded, and the organization had collapsed before anyone had started to question how the two men over 50 could keep up with younger agents without extra effort. It had simply been taken for granted that a lifetime of fitness and healthy eating was simply paying its dividends toward the veterans.

 

“Who knows?” Jack answered, before yawning. “Mercy’s estimates keep jumping up. First it was 130, then 140. I’d wager we’ve got over a century left, assuming we don’t miss the next time we start shooting at each other.”

 

Gabe grunted. 

 

Jack cracked his eyes open and looked up at his lover.

 

“Why don't you give up on Talon already? You don't have a chance at steering that ship. Best to just punch a couple holes in it on your way out and hope it sinks.”

 

“Won't be that easy,” Gabriel murmured, before clearing his throat. “And besides, Sombra won't go.”

 

Jack sighed. He had the same soft spot for the young hacker as Gabriel did, and he knew that, given Sombra’s presumed knowledge of Talons systems and operations, the terrorist cell would not be so ready to let her go.

 

“Don’t know how much damage I could do, either.” Gabriel muttered, still absent-mindedly stroking Jack's hair. “Akande seems like he’s tougher than us, sometimes. Enough that I couldn't count on taking him down. And I don't fancy getting hit by the Doomfist. Not to mention, Moira’s had all this time to think up ways to take me down.”

 

Jack sighed, but didn't respond.

 

Gabriel let them lie there for a while, though he knew Jack hadn't fallen back asleep. Neither of them required much sleep, himself even less so than Jack.

 

“How are the others?” Gabe asked finally.

 

“Oh,  _ very _ upset with you.” Jack chuckled. “You should hear the way Jesse rants about you when he knows someone new is around. You'd think you were both the father of his newborn child and the murderer of that same child.”

 

“What child?” Gabe asked, also laughing. “I thought he  _ was _ the child!”

 

“I dunno, he was pretty drunk. Almost made Lena cry. Course, she was drinking too.”

 

“Does she still think I'm evil?”

 

“Gets harder to tell everyday,” Jack said, sitting up. Gabe sat up too, and they leaned back against the headboard of the bed in their hastily thrown together hideout. “I'm still not sure she knew we were together in the first place.”

 

“How could she not know?” Gabriel demanded, offended. “I went out of my way to make sure that was our  _ worst _ kept secret! What did she think I kept kidnapping you for?”

 

Jack shrugged.

 

“Kids these days,” Gabriel muttered darkly, and Jack laughed. 

 

Reluctantly, Gabe swung his legs out of bed, ignoring Jack's sigh. A quick breakfast on the portable stove Jack had brought, and then it would be time to leave.

 

“Next time,” Jack said, wincing as he too got out of bed. “Let's just cuddle and have a movie night, or something, alright? You can't keep putting me out of commission like this.”

 

“Body not what it used to be, old man?” Gabriel mocked, and he laughed as Jack chucked a pillow at him.

 

* * *

**~** **_5 years later_ ** **~**

 

“...And that concludes our service. We will never forget the man who forsook his own identity for the good of all. I'm sure he would have been delighted to know how many friends he had, and we can only hope that now, Jack Morrison can finally rest in peace.” The government official gave a small bow, and a band began to play a mournful tune as a sealed casket was lowered into the Earth.

 

“It's a shame,” Jesse muttered, tipping his hat so no could see his face. “So much left to live for.”

 

“Oh, yes,” Angela said, very convincingly dabbing at her eyes with a conspicuously dry handkerchief. “Why must the good be taken from us at age-appropriate retirement?”

 

The music faded, and the crowd around the casket began to disperse.

 

Ana nodded solemnly, remaining quiet as the attendees moved past them, a few offering words of condolences or comfort, which caused them to look away, bowing their heads.

 

When they had moved away from the group, Ana turned to her companions and said, business-like, 

 

“On a completely unrelated note, I received a postcard from an anonymous source showing what looks to be a lovely stretch of beach in what I'm guessing is the Caribbean. The complete strangers wish Fareehah luck as the new head of the reformed Overwatch, and one, quote ‘gives her permission to beat Jesse with either end of her rocket launcher should she feel the need to.’”

 

“This complete stranger sounds like a dick,” Jesse said, scowling.

 

“Yeah,” chimed in Lena. “Like the kind of git who would dress like some angry ghost and attack his friends with shotguns. Reminds of a terrorist, couldn’t say who though.”

 

“Well at least we know it's not the Reaper,” Fareehah drawled. “He was killed in Jack Morrison’s heroic and entirely off-camera final battle. One that was surely fraught with tension and certainly wasn't just two guys throwing fake corpses on the ground with their dog tags before going off to buy a plane ticket to Fiji or wherever.”

 

Jesse put his hands on his hips, frowning. “Look, I know they've been through a lot, but were their lives really good enough for a 100 year golden age retirement in the Caribbean? I'm just not sure they earned that.”

 

The women around him shrugged.

 

“And won't they get bored?” Fareehah asked. “I mean, eventually? Sure, the beautiful landscape and uninterrupted sex would be great for like,  _ five  _ decades, but after that?”

 

“I'm sure your future grandchildren will find out,” Ana said sagely. “Now come on. I have it on good authority that the food at the wake will be excellent.”

 

* * *

 

Far away, on beach chairs, staring out at a beautiful sunset, two men toasted each other, content. 


End file.
